Lost Angel
by sparklyscorpion
Summary: ON HIATUS When Christine's child dies, she is driven to the brink of madness and back into the arms of Erik. This isn't your typical Christine returns to Erik story and is fairly dark. Friendly to Raoul, as always. EC and RC.
1. Home

_Author's Note: The Phantom of the Opera belongs to Gaston Leroux. I'm only borrowing his characters._

_This is both a "new" and "old" story. I first wrote Lost Angel in 2005, right after my niece died, as a sort of therapy exercise. I took it down because I wanted to rewrite it and make it better, so here is my latest attempt._

_Please if you have read the first version of Lost Angel, don't give anything away in reviews. Besides, I've changed several things in this version. :)  
_

_Squishy thanks to my beta, Jennyfair.

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_

Christine Daaé and Raoul de Chagny had left Paris the very night that Erik had released them, their hopes for a happy future together still strong, even though they had already suffered more tragedies than most couples. And, for a while, it seemed that the pair would have their fairytale ending in spite of everything that had happened. They immigrated to Sweden, the land that Christine still viewed as home, and were married in a small church near Uppsala, where they lived on the charity of the minister while Raoul tried to set their finances in order.

It was only then that Raoul learned of his brother's death, and the news devastated him. He grew even more despondent when he discovered that some people believed that he was responsible for Philippe's demise. No one who truly knew the boy believed that he was capable of such an act, including his sisters, who both sent letters begging him to return to France once they obtained his address. They were less than pleased to hear of his elopement with an opera singer, but Raoul made it clear that nothing could persuade him to leave his new bride, and so for several months there was a chilly air of hostility separating the remnants of the de Chagny clan.

Meanwhile, Christine quickly realized that Sweden was not all that she had remembered it to be, for her memories of the years she had spent there were colored by her love for Papa Daaé. It was colder in Uppsala than she remembered, much colder, and she had neglected her Swedish in France, so much so that she had difficulty communicating with the townspeople. She also felt powerless to help her husband, who spent many hours wandering aimlessly through the surrounding countryside, blind with grief. She knew that he was unhappy in Sweden, although he would not admit it. Even once they moved to a rented cottage of their own, they were both miserable.

Things only began to improve for the newlyweds when Christine discovered that she was expecting a baby. The prospect of a nephew or niece softened the contempt Raoul's sisters felt for his wife, and both invited the pair to visit Paris once the child was born. Impending fatherhood also seemed to agree with Raoul, and he spent more time inside with Christine instead of slugging through the snow that covered the ground. As for Christine, she finally gained the strength to ask Raoul if they could move back to France – perhaps to Brittany, where they had once been so happy together. Raoul readily agreed, so quickly that Christine knew he was relieved that she had suggested it.

They chose a beautiful home along the sea near Brest, and the next several months were wonderful for the both of them. Raoul continued taking his long walks, but now his wife accompanied him, and it wasn't uncommon to see the young couple walking along the shore at all hours of the day and night, Raoul's arm wrapped protectively around his wife's waist. Time indoors was spent daydreaming of their future together, decorating the nursery, and picking out names for the baby – Philippe if it was a boy, in honor of Raoul's brother, and Ingrid for a girl, after Christine's mother. As the birth of the child drew closer, Christine found it difficult to walk for more than a few minutes at a time, and so they spent their days on the porch, sometimes telling stories but, more often, silently staring at the sea.

The child was born two days before Christine and Raoul's wedding anniversary, and as the midwife held the squalling infant in her arms, she declared that they were now the proud parents of a healthy boy. Little Philippe stole the hearts of all who saw him, with his wispy blonde hair and startling blue eyes. Raoul, immediately assuming the role of proud father, wrote letters to his sisters declaring that the baby was the most beautiful he had ever seen, and that they should come to Brest to see the newest addition to the de Chagny line.

When Raoul's sisters reached Brest nearly a week later, they arrived just in time to attend the child's funeral.


	2. Anything

_Author's Note: The Phantom of the Opera belongs to Gaston Leroux. I'm only borrowing his characters._

_Please if you have read the first version of Lost Angel, don't give anything away in reviews. Besides, I've changed several things in this version. :)  
_

_Squishy thanks to my beta, Jennyfair.

* * *

_

Raoul knocked on the door to the nursery, waiting in the hallway for some acknowledgement from his wife, but the only sound he heard was the faint squeaking of the rocking chair. He sighed and rested his forehead against the wall, wondering if he should leave her alone or try to talk with her. Christine had barely spoken a word since their child's death, choosing instead to spend most of her time alone in the nursery. She rarely slept, and when she did, she usually awoke screaming for Philippe and couldn't be comforted no matter what Raoul did or said.

The only thing that seemed to console her was sitting in the nursery in the rocking chair, holding one of the baby's blankets close to her chest and silently staring out the window at the sea. The doctor had told him that Raoul shouldn't let her isolate herself in the room, that he should even consider sealing off the nursery for a while, but Raoul couldn't bring himself to deprive Christine of the one activity that seemed to bring her solace. The doctor had also suggested that Raoul send his wife to a sanatorium in the country until she regained her strength, yet another thing that he would not consider. He would not lock his wife away, as if he was ashamed of her grief, which so closely mirrored his own.

Instead, Raoul had consulted Hélène, the younger of his two sisters, who had offered to stay behind in Brest for however long she was needed. She had lost two of her own children to influenza several years ago, and she could understand their grief better than most.

"The thing that helped me was getting pregnant again as soon as possible," she had confided in a hushed whisper, pulling at her gloves and not meeting his gaze as she spoke. "It wasn't just because I needed a baby to hold, although that certainly helped. I need to be close to Édouard too. They were his daughters as well, and it helped me to remember that I was not the only one suffering. Don't keep separate from one another, Raoul. You must comfort each other." By the time she had finished, her face was as red as Raoul imagined his to be, but he had nodded and thanked her for her advice.

He knew that his sister was right. He had kept much of his anguish about his brother's death to himself, thinking only to protect Christine from the guilt that had threatened to overwhelm him, but it had been a mistake to do so. Now that Christine was the one who was shutting him out, he realized that it was far more painful to be alone and in misery. He missed his child, but he missed his wife even more.

Raoul squared his shoulders and opened the door of the nursery. "Christine? Didn't you hear me knocking?"

She didn't respond, merely continuing to rock in the chair as she stroked the soft fabric of Philippe's blanket. He took a few steps towards her, afraid that she would begin to scream for the baby again if he said the wrong thing. Raoul wasn't sure if he could cope with that right now, not with his own grief tearing at his heart.

"I thought that we might go for a walk outside," he said awkwardly, although they had not enjoyed a walk together in many weeks. "It's a nice day, and the doctor said that a little exercise would do us both some good." He wouldn't tell her all that the doctor had said, but that bit of advice seemed harmless enough.

Christine stared mutely out the window, completely unresponsive, and Raoul knelt before her, gripping her arms until she stopped rocking. "Please, Christine, it's been over two months. You can't keep doing this. It isn't healthy."

"I want him back." Her voice was husky, and Raoul wasn't sure if it was due to the screams that woke him in the night or the silent vigils she kept during the day. "I want my baby."

"Philippe is dead, Christine," Raoul murmured as gently as he could, staring at her hands after it became apparent that she would not meet his gaze. "We can't have him back."

"When I tucked him in that night he was so sweet and warm and _alive_," she whispered, clutching the blanket with all of her might. "How can he be dead?"

Raoul wasn't sure how to reply to her anguished question; he didn't know the answer himself. The doctor had told him that sometimes babies died without any explanation at all, but it made no sense that a perfectly healthy child could suddenly die one evening without a reason. "I don't know," he replied after a minute, "but he is, and sitting here all day with his blanket won't bring him back."

"Was I a bad mother?" she asked after a few moments of silence, her words so soft that he could barely hear them. "What did I do wrong? Why did God take my baby away?"

Raoul's eyes burned with unshed tears as he placed his hands against her cheeks. "Look at me Christine," he ordered in a stern voice that he hadn't used since he was in the navy. "You are a wonderful mother and you did _nothing_ wrong. You can't keep doing this to yourself. It will kill you, and I can't bear to lose you, too. Don't you know that I can't live without you?" His voice cracked, but he did nothing to hide his feelings from his wife, recalling how Hélène had felt better knowing that she was not alone in her suffering.

"I would give anything to have him back," Christine choked as tears rolled down her pale cheeks. Raoul held his arms open, and she sank to the floor with him, burying her face against the hollow of his shoulder as she cried. "Anything…"


End file.
